


some boyhood bravery

by plantegg



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon Compliant, Disaster Bi Juno Steel, Disaster Gay Peter Nureyev, Disaster Lesbian Rita Lastname, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions, he's also drunk for a lot of it, it's set somewhere after the end of the monster's reflection, juno steel has his first honest conversation in 25 years, juno steel takes a bath fully clothed, well there's A reunion anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantegg/pseuds/plantegg
Summary: “Juno, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I am very much regretting not leaving you in the dumpster right now."A case goes wrong for Juno. He calls Peter for help.





	some boyhood bravery

**Author's Note:**

> just a warning that juno gets a bit Injured in this and there's some references to like blood and bruises and stuff it's not super graphic but i just thought i'd say it  
> also he's various levels of drunk for almost the entire fic so watch out for that too

All things considered, he’s not that surprised he’s going to die in a dumpster.

It’s not like it’s something he hasn’t considered before. It just seems to be part of the job as a private eye to end up in dumpsters, considering how convenient they are as hiding places. Even better, no one ever really wants to check the dumpster, which means they’re usually the perfect place for a sneaky detective to wait in until whatever cop or bad guy or both that’s been after them gets bored of searching and leaves. However, the fact that no one ever checks the dumpster also means that Juno will probably be left in there to bleed out, too weak and too tired to bother calling for help, just waiting until he’s nothing more than an unexpected and unpleasant _crunch_ to be discovered by whatever poor bastard’s driving the next garbage truck to roll through. No, it’s no surprise that when Juno Steel finally gets what’s coming to him it’s in a dumpster in an alley somewhere after a case gone wrong. Even less surprising that he’s alone for it, too, head spinning with booze and the aftershock of a fall from several feet up, nothing but the smoggy stars and a distantly squeaking rat to comfort him in his final moments.

Through the gaping maw of the dumpster’s open lid he can make out the sparkle of Hyperion City’s skyscrapers with his good eye, glittering like the kind of cheap, plastic jewellery Sarah would buy him when she was feeling especially guilty. Scratchy, and with pieces missing, too tight around his throat but _his_ all the same. Broken, but belonging. It would be nice to believe that Hyperion was a city of broken things, that it had simply cracked somewhere at some point in its history, that it had lost something along the way, and that if it was returned everything would be just fine. But that was the thing about Hyperion City – even if it was flawed, it wasn’t broken. It was just… _like_ that. It had always been like that, from the very start. There was no right side of town in Hyperion. Only the sprawl of smog and skyscrapers, creeping and insidious and damn near impossible to outrun.

It’s hard to fix the _wrongness_ that’s part of your very nature.

Juno has learned that over his life.

He really hopes Rita doesn’t feel bad when she finds out what happened. It’s not her fault she wasn’t there when he had a breakthrough – it was supposed to be their night off, which for her was a date with Frannie, and for him was a date with his liquor cabinet. And his liquor cabinet knew how to treat a lady – it only took about two bottles of good Martian whiskey, the kind that can burn a hole through a table if you leave your glass on it long enough, for him to make the final connection he needed to figure out where to find the thief he'd been tailing for the past week. There hadn’t been any time to tell her where he was going, or to sober up a little before he stormed the thief’s hideout and started firing. No time to sober up before his target got away either, only time for the pound of their feet across rainy rooftops, for a slip and a skid across the wet shingles beneath his shoes and then –

Well.

And then, the dumpster.

The ache in his ribs turns into a throb when he thinks about it too much. So he tries not to. Instead, he digs his comms out of the pocket of his coat, a little pained groan escaping his chest when his clumsy, drunken hand bumps into his sore spots too hard on its way back up. Maybe he should call someone, he thinks. At least make an effort to let someone know where he is, and what happened to him. Maybe Sasha, just to let her know that his death wasn’t a murder or a conspiracy, or anything else that might require an investigation of some kind. Just Juno Steel finally getting what he deserved. Then again, if anyone was stupid enough to think he was worth a conspiracy it would be Mick – who was out of the question, considering he’d probably panic if he found out and do something stupid, like call the cops. Rita was equally impossible – she’d been nervous about her date all week, and Juno certainly wasn’t about to let the four hours she’d spent dragging him around Hyperion to help her find a dress for it, or the all-nighter he’d pulled tailing Frannie through the city to make sure her intentions for Rita were pure, go to waste because he’d fucked up and landed himself in danger again. He couldn’t do that to her.

And he knew who would be the worst idea of all to call. He knows that he shouldn’t be thinking of long limbs, of sharp teeth, of a smell that lingered in his apartment for two weeks, that he can still chase there if he drinks enough and keeps his eyes shut. He knows he shouldn’t be recalling a number that it had taken _forever_ for Rita to dig up, one she scribbled out for him on a piece of paper, one he burned before he had the guts to call it but still couldn’t erase from his thoughts. He _definitely_ shouldn’t be plugging it into his comms, definitely shouldn’t be raising it to his ear with fingers that he _swears_ aren’t shaking and –

_Beebeebeep._

Oops.

At least it doesn’t take him long to pick up.

“Who is this?”

God, he missed his voice. “Hey, Nureyev,” he drawls, words slurred with exhaustion and alcohol, and when there’s a choked off gasp on the other end he can’t help but laugh, even when it feels like a knife in his ribs.

“ _Juno?_ But – how did you get this number?”

Even with the comms pressed to his ear, Nureyev’s voice still sounds like its coming from centuries away. “Nureyev. _Nureyev._ ” He’s yelling now, he thinks, or at least speaking loud enough to make his whole chest ache with pain. “Nureyev, I fell. I fell _bad._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Nureyev’s reply is quick, frantic and tinged with exasperation. “Juno, if the first time you contact me in six months is some kind of drunken _booty call_ then I _swear_ –”

“No, not for _you_.” He waves his hand, even though he knows Nureyev can’t see him, and it feels like trying to lift a truck with one arm. “Well. That too. But that’s not why I’m calling you. It was off a building this time.” The memory makes him grimace. “A tall one.”

There is a long pause from Nureyev’s end of the comms.

“You don’t mean to tell me that–”

“Oh yeah.” Juno cuts him off. “Yeah, I do. S’not good, Nureyev. S’really not good.” Idly, he stretches out his neck, and it makes a fun crunching sound that he’s sure doesn’t bode well for his bones. “It’s nice hearing your voice, though. Sucks that I didn’t get to hear it as much as I would’ve liked to while I was alive, but. Well. You know how it is.”

“Juno, I don’t think I’ve ever known how it is _less_ in my life. Just – where are you?”

“Physically? No idea. Dumpster in an alley somewhere in Hyperion. Smells a little like sulfur, but that might just be because healthwise, I feel about five minutes away from death, and spiritually, I’m at the mouth of Hell right now.” He shrugs, and then winces, regretting it immediately as pain crawls through his upper body. “Bye, Peter,” he says softly, and swallows to chase away the sudden lump he can feel welling up in his throat. “If your voice is the last thing I ever hear, then I think I’m at peace with that.”

“Juno, you _idiot_ , wait–”

_Click._

When Juno lets out the breath he’s been holding, it comes out as a pale fog in the night’s cold air, just visible in the plastic light of the buildings above. The comms slips from his fingers as his eyelids flutter, each second feeling heavier as it passes, like bricks being dropped onto his chest as he sinks further and further into the hold of sleep.

 _At least he knows, now_ , Juno thinks, hazy and distant. _At least he knows that he’s something to me. That he always was._

And if he still doesn’t, well.

That’s Juno’s own stupid fault.

 

It’s the sound of metal clanging that wakes him, makes him crack his good eye open to catch a glimpse of those same bright, Hyperion City lights, fractured now by the flutter of his eyelashes, just before a long, dark shadow of a man leans over him, blocking them from his view entirely.

He still smells the same.

Juno’s almost glad for the pain in his ribs, because he knows it’s the only thing stopping him from letting out a sob.

“Juno, Juno, oh darling, you _idiot–”_ there’s fingers now, brushing the hair away from his forehead, gentle and frantic all at once as they slip down to cradle his jaw, softly turning his face up towards the sky before creeping down to press against his pulse, searching to check if he’s alive.

“There you are,” Juno murmurs, a wry laugh punching out of his aching lungs. “My knight in stolen armor.” Tenderly, he slides his hand up to weakly grip Nureyev’s wrist, his very presence feeling like a glitch in life, an unreality to the quiet noise of relief he makes as Juno gingerly attempts a smile, crooked, and slightly bloodied, judging by the hint of iron on his tongue, but genuine nonetheless.

Nureyev sighs quietly. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

Juno clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Everywhere?” he offers. “My ribs especially, though.”

“Ah. I thought as much. That’s where most of the blood is.”

“Oh, so there _is_ blood,” Juno mutters, more to himself than to Nureyev, who’s wrapping his arms around him now, softer than Juno deserves, tugging at him until he’s sitting up, carefully and with more strength than Nureyev’s willowy body would imply he’s capable of. “How bad do I look? Just tenderized, or full mincemeat?”

“You’ll live,” Nureyev says shortly, and then Juno feels an arm underneath his legs, another sliding around his back, lifting him out of the dumpster, cradling him like something precious, in a way that makes him instinctively tuck his head into the junction of Nureyev’s shoulder and neck, makes him wrap his arms around his shoulders to support himself, dragging himself closer into the warmth of Nureyev’s body.

He tries not to think too much about how Nureyev stiffens and leans his head away from him in response.

“How’d you find me, anyway?” Juno asks sleepily, already feeling his exhaustion begin to draw him in again, further exacerbated by his body rocking gently as Nureyev starts to walk, heading towards what he can just make out to be the end of the alley.

“I traced your location from your comms.” A few more footsteps as Juno’s eyes start to slip shut again, and then the sound of a door opening. “You should really be more careful, Juno. You’re surprisingly easy to find, considering how often you end up running away from the people you meet.”

Juno’s vaguely aware that it’s meant to be a barb of some kind, but it’s impossible for him to understand or respond to it, to do anything beyond go boneless as Nureyev lowers him into the passenger seat, beyond watch Nureyev shut the door on him and then make his way to the driver’s side, face indecipherable between the darkness of the night and the slow droop of his eyelids. There’s a rustle of clothes as Nureyev settles in, a pause, and then a hand in his hair, petting softly for a second before disappearing again.

“Nureyev–” he begins.

“Go back to sleep, Juno.” The engine starts. “It’ll be a while before we get to where I’m staying, and it would be a good idea for you to get some rest.”

Juno doesn’t have the energy to argue with that.

 

He’s a lot warmer the next time he wakes up.

He’s on a couch of some kind, he thinks. Well, half of him is. While his back is resting on what certainly feels like a couch, his legs are elevated slightly, resting on what registers as suspiciously close to another set of legs, longer than his by far, and presumably connected in some way to the pair of hands that he can feel faintly on his ribs, where his shirt is pushed up, stomach exposed. When he tries to sit up to confirm his suspicions a hand comes up to cover his eyes, nimble fingers obscuring the scene before him from view.

“Don’t. You won’t like what you’ll see.”

Juno slumps back, hands curling into the cushions of the couch below him, rubbing the sleek leather between his fingers to confirm its reality. “How bad is it?”

The hand leaves his face as he settles back onto the couch, screwing his eyes shut. “You won’t be needing stitches, or anything more complex than what I can provide you. It’s mostly just heavy bruising – there’s a bit of blood, but the amount is more likely due to the fact that you’ve been drinking rather than from the severity of your injuries.”

That’s far too much information for Juno to take in in his drunken, tired state. “So… okay?”

Nureyev sighs, and Juno really hopes he’s not hallucinating the barely concealed affection he’s making out there. “Yes, Juno. You’re okay.”

“Huh.” Juno raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been a lot of things in my life, but okay hasn’t been one of them so far.” He feels Nureyev’s hand slide beneath his back, what’s probably a bandage of some kind providing a merciful barrier between their skin, and shifts to give him better access. “Where are we, anyway? Is this your place, or did you break in somewhere?”

“Technically, the apartment belongs to Scarlett Chernoff,” Nureyev replies, sliding the bandage underneath Juno and bringing it up to wrap around his ribs. “They’re a ditzy socialite that makes frequent visits to a jewellers in Polaris Park to have their various family heirlooms restored and repaired, a jewellers that will find in a month’s time that all of their stock has mysteriously vanished in the night, along with Mx Chernoff themself.”

Juno huffs out a quiet laugh. “Lucky you were running a scam around Hyperion when I needed you, huh?”

Nureyev is conspicuously silent in response to that.

“...It was luck, wasn’t it?”

Nureyev still says nothing.

“Nureyev, you weren’t–”

“As an… independent contractor of sorts, I get to pick my cases as they suit me.” When Juno cracks his good eye open, the apartment is dark, lit by a single lamp that doesn’t permit him to catch the expression on Nureyev’s face as he lowers his head, staring resolutely down at Juno’s chest. “If what suited me is a case near to Hyperion City, then that’s my business.”

“Nureyev, you–”

“ _My_ business, Juno.” Nureyev cuts him off again, and Juno can see his hand shake now, barely perceptible in the dim light of the apartment. “Don’t,” Nureyev says when Juno opens his mouth again, alcohol still humming in his head, drowning out his common sense. “Please, Juno,” he says, softer this time. “Just... don’t.”

Juno swallows and nods, which he’s sure gives him a horrible double chin from the angle he’s lying at that he _really_ hopes Nureyev can’t see in the dark. Nureyev’s silent as he finishes bandaging his ribs, face still cruelly obscured by shadows, the familiar brush of his fingers and his smell, his fucking smell, the only evidence that _yes_ , it’s really _him_ , he’s really with him again. “There.” Nureyev slides Juno’s shirt back down, and the light graze of his skin against his stomach feels like fire, makes Juno bite his lip as he tries not to squirm in response. “I took care of your more minor wounds while you were out, and ran you a bath, too.”

Juno blinks. “A… bath?”

“Yes, Juno, a bath. You still smell like the dumpster, and I didn’t think you would be up to standing for long enough to have a shower.” Nureyev goes to lift Juno up again, and he bats his hand away, his arm still weak and aching.

“I can walk.” He’s _sure_ he’s imaging the hurt expression that twists Nureyev’s lips for a second, just visible as he pulls back from Juno’s body. “But I’ll probably need to lean on you.”

Nureyev nods, and then his arm is around Nureyev’s shoulders, Nureyev’s arm around his waist, gently helping him to his feet. “This way,” Nureyev says, and they go, a graceful step and an awkward stumble side by side as he guides Juno down the hallway.

The light in the bathroom is blinding in comparison to the darkness of the rest of the apartment. “Let me know if you need anything,” Nureyev tells him, helping him lean against the bathroom counter, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Juno alone with –

Wait, what the _fuck?_

“Nureyev, what the hell is wrong with your bath?”

“Oh?” comes the reply from the other side of the door. “It’s a bubble bath.”

Juno nervously eyes the tower of foam threatening to seep over the edge of the bathtub. “A bubble bath,” he repeats.

“Yes. They’re an Earth custom, one that fell out of style on Mars several centuries ago. Mind your injuries when you get in.”

Juno steps towards the bath suspiciously, toeing off his shoes as he goes, and then his socks with them. “Is it… safe?” he asks, skimming his fingers through the bubbles, watching them dissipate under his touch.

Nureyev sighs. “No, Juno. The bath is actually filled with hydrofluoric acid. The bubbles are a distraction, and I plan to kill you by slowly dissolving your body so there’s no trace of you in my home if the police come to question me. You’ve caught me in the middle of the perfect crime. I’m ruined.”

Juno laughs quietly. “See, I know you’re joking because you implied someone would care enough to call the cops if I disappeared.” He straightens his back, wincing at the ebbing pain in his ribs, and peels off his coat, dropping it onto the floor alongside his shoes and socks. “What’s the point of it, anyway? Do the bubbles do anything special? Does it have some kind of advanced healing properties?”

“No,” Nureyev says mildly. “I just thought I’d do something nice for you.”

“Oh,” Juno replies, staring down at the bath. “...Thanks, Nureyev,” he finishes awkwardly.

Nureyev doesn’t respond.

Juno briefly considers removing the rest of his clothes, but between the alcohol and the exhaustion and the ever-present threat of having to see his own body in the mirror over the bathroom counter it all just seems like _too much_ . Instead, he steps into the bath and lowers himself down slowly, hissing at the ache in his legs, still sore from having to chase his target through the city. His target that he never caught – but that’s a headache for tomorrow, he thinks, running a hand through his hair, arm heavy with the weight of his wet sleeve. The bath is nice, now that he’s over his initial apprehension, warm on his aching muscles and smelling softly of something he can’t quite put a name to. Even here, Nureyev’s smell lingers, just barely noticeable but still _there_ enough to bring Juno comfort, to remind him that even if it’s just for now, he has him back. That he came for him, in spite of everything.

That, judging by the absence of the sound of footsteps outside the door, he’s still there.

Juno hums. “What’s in this, anyway? I don’t think I’ve smelled anything like this before.”

“Bergamot,” Nureyev responds, and Juno’s glad he can’t see the triumphant grin he feels lighting up his face at the confirmation that Nureyev hasn’t gone anywhere. “It doesn’t grow well on Mars, which is why you don’t recognise it. The terrain of other planets, however, have no such issue, and since it combines so well with a range of scents it’s frequently found in bath bombs.”

Juno freezes. “Bomb? You put a _bomb_ in here?”

“No, Juno, it’s just a name.” He relaxes again. “Besides, even if I did put a bomb in your bath the hydrofluoric acid would have dissolved it by now.”

Juno laughs, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and tries to ignore the fun little twinge he feels in his chest at the sound of Nureyev chuckling quietly outside the door. “You’ve got jokes, huh? And where’d you get it from if its ingredients don’t grow on Mars?”

Nureyev says something, a name, Juno thinks, that sounds alien, unintelligible. “I took a case there a while ago. One that was a lot less… clean than what I’m up to now.” There’s teeth that come with that statement, and Juno knows them well, can see them sharp and gleaming, can feel the memory of them on his neck. “I thought I’d get myself something nice while I was there. Something to help me wash the blood off with.”

He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol still clouding his thoughts, or the distracting memory of sharp canines on his skin, but Juno can’t quite catch himself before the question on his mind slips out, unbidden.

“Was that before or after?”

Even through the warmth of the bath, Juno can feel the way the air around him immediately turns to ice. “Before or after what, Juno?”

It’s not a question, not _really_ , but Juno answers anyway. “You know. Us.”

There is a long silence before Nureyev answers.

“After, Juno. Right after. When I realised that what I needed to do was take myself as far away from Mars as I possibly could without leaving the universe entirely, and put my knife to good use while I was at it, too.”

Juno winces, floundering for words. “I. Uh. I sorta… fucked that one, didn’t I?”

There’s no humour in Nureyev’s voice when he replies. “I’d say you did.”

Juno sighs, his body feeling suddenly so, _so_ heavy, his chest tight, throat choked with all the things he wants to say, needs to say, but really can’t figure out how to begin. “Nureyev, I – I’m sorry. I really am.”

Nureyev’s silence feels thick, disconcerting, but the lack of footsteps heading away from the door is enough to keep Juno talking. “I just… everything you said about leaving forever? It was a _lot_ for me to handle. Too much for me to think about, and not enough time to do it in. And talking it through with you? Telling you I was scared? Even _more_. So I just… didn’t. I didn’t handle it. I just... left.”

“You just left.” Nureyev’s voice comes out clipped and icy. “With no explanation. With nothing,” and Juno can hear his voice tremble now, “to let me know where you’d gone. To tell me _why._ ”

“Nureyev…” Juno sighs, and _God_ , he really, _really_ wishes he was doing this sober. “I’ve fucked up a _lot_ in my life. I can’t think of one thing I’ve done that I haven’t fucked up at least a little. And I hadn’t fucked up with you yet. So I thought that if everything was too _much_ and too good to be true anyway I might as well just get out before I ruined it. That I should be the one to leave before I screwed it all up and _got_ left.” He pushes his hair back from his forehead, feels drops of water run down his face as he moves. “Turns out that just made things even worse.”

There’s a rustle of fabric outside the door, and then a gentle _thud_ , which Juno faintly recognises to be the sound of Nureyev sitting down. “I wouldn’t say you _ruined_ things, exactly,” he says quietly, and, idly, Juno scoops some of the bath’s foam onto his fingers, studying how it sways and sparkles slightly in the light. “But running away didn’t solve anything, either.” An idea sparking in his head, Juno brings his hand to his face, drawing the foam across across his chin. “Juno, I already told you that I–”

His voice breaks off as Juno catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, his face half-hidden by a beard of bubbles, and bursts into laughter.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, _man_ .” Juno chuckles. “You should see me right now, Nureyev. I look like Captain Khan. If Captain Khan got hit by a truck, I guess, because _wow,_ my face is fucked _up_. Who could’ve guessed falling off a roof could injure you in a whole bunch of places, huh?”

Nureyev sighs. “Juno, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I am _very_ much regretting not leaving you in the dumpster right now.”

“I’m not trying to be flippant about your feelings, if it helps,” Juno offers. “Just my own.”

“I know that, Juno,” Nureyev replies. “I’m just waiting for you to realise that that’s exactly as bad.”

Juno chews on his lower lip, hand coming up to wipe the bubbles from his face, unsure as to whether he still wishes he was sober for this or wishes he was far, far more drunk. “You know, I think my life could be described as just a series of fuckups. Annie Wire. Yasmin Swift. My brother. Names you don’t even know, names you’ll never get a _chance_ to know because the people they were attached to are now all gone. People that wouldn’t be gone if it weren’t for me, if I hadn’t come in and screwed everything up. It all could have been avoided if I wasn’t there. If I wasn’t anywhere at all. If I just… didn’t exist.” His fingers flex instinctively where he wants the neck of a bottle to be. "Yknow, maybe I should have just stayed in the dumpster. Maybe calling you was a mistake. Maybe the only way I can stop myself from fucking everything up is if I just let myself finally _die_ . It would have been so _easy_ , Nureyev. All I had to do was close my eyes, and I could have been nothing. Could have _felt_ nothing."

The water around him sloshes wildly as he shifts, bringing his knees up to his chest to wrap his arms around them. "Could've felt nothing, if it weren't for you,” he murmurs, not sure if Nureyev can near him from the other side of the door. Not sure if he wants him to. “It’s been like that since we met."

Nureyev’s expression is invisible to Juno beyond the door, and if he doesn’t see his face soon he’s going to fucking lose it. "Nureyev. Get in here."

"Juno, I don’t think that’s a good idea." The reply is instant. "You’re _very_ drunk, and it would be wrong of us to–”

"Fuck's sake, Nureyev. I'm not gonna jump you,” he snarls, exasperated. "I just think we should be having this conversation face to face."

Nureyev stays silent, and Juno sighs in frustration. "C'mon. Please?" He rubs an anxious hand across the back of his neck, brain stumbling foggily through everything he wants to say but knows he shouldn't. "I... I don't think I should be alone right now." He swallows, struggling to hear anything at all from the other side of door through the humid hum of alcohol in his blood. "Want you with me."

He manages to catch himself before he says _always_ .

It's another moment before he hears the doorknob click.

"Juno, I – are you – are you still wearing all of your clothes?"

Juno grins, feeling like he used to when he solved a case, back when it was still exciting. "Clink clink, bitch,” he says, and while he can't see Nureyev's eyes, he knows he's rolling them.

“I’m glad to see that in spite of everything you’re still completely and _utterly_ ridiculous,” Nureyev sighs, shutting the door behind him and sidestepping Juno’s clothes as he makes his way to the bathtub, taking a seat on its edge and crossing one leg over the other, staring down at Juno with a wonky, barely concealed grin.

He looks good, now that Juno can actually see his face; more tired than he was the last time he saw him, with fresh patches of blue faintly tingeing the space underneath his eyes, and there’s a new piercing, too, a glittering barbell laced through his eyebrow that Juno can only assume is part of his disguise as a jewellery-obsessed heirex. It suits him – but then again, it’s hard to imagine what _wouldn_ _'t_ look good on Nureyev. He’s a handsome guy. Juno’s allowed to think it, allowed to appreciate it, even if that means openly gawking at him. Especially when Nureyev’s staring too, looking almost entranced, as impossible as that is to believe, as he reaches across to sink a hand into Juno’s hair and stroke it. His fingers are soft as they touch him, warm when they skim down his jaw, making him want to chase them as Nureyev catches himself, pulls them back with an apologetic expression forming on his face.

“Sorry, it’s just hard to believe that–”

“Hard to believe that I’m here, right?” Juno finishes for him. “Like if you don’t touch me I’ll disappear, or you’ll disappear, like I couldn’t possibly be with you again?” Nureyev nods cautiously, and Juno can’t stop the quiet laugh that slips from his mouth, the joy in his chest impossible to cage. “Yeah.” He swallows, unable to look away from the smile that catches the corner of Nureyev’s lips. “I get it. Me too.”

There’s a long, but not uncomfortable, silence.

Juno’s the first to break it. “I meant what I said,” he blurts, far too loud for the quiet of Nureyev’s apartment. “Before. When I told you that you were the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” It still makes him feel raw to admit it, flayed open, too exposed, especially now that Nureyev’s right in front of him. “And when good things come my way, they get broken. _I_ break them, because I don’t deserve them, and because of that I don’t know how to handle them. And I really, _really_ didn’t want to break you. Leaving was shitty of me. I know that. But I also knew that you’d get over me, and that would be far, _far_ better than me staying. Because I’ll ruin you, Nureyev.” Juno swallows, avoiding his eyes. “And I can’t think of anyone that deserves to be ruined less than you.”

Juno’s not sure what the response he’s expecting is. Probably something along the lines of _get the fuck out of my apartment._ It’s certainly not Nureyev’s fingers on the edge of his jaw, tilting his chin up until he meets his gaze, finding it unexpectedly tender. Unexpectedly… understanding.

“Do you remember what I said then?”

Juno shrugs. “I remember you saying _idiot_ a few times. A lot of _open this door_ , too,” he says, his imitation of Nureyev’s accent prompting a quiet noise of offence in response.

“I don’t sound like – that’s beside the point. What I mean is… I told you that you don’t have to do this alone. Any of it. I meant what I said, too. You don’t have to run away any more, Juno, or be afraid of ruining things. Of hurting me.” He smiles, then, and it’s so utterly breathtaking that Juno feels as though his chest might split from the force of his heartbeat pounding. “I _know_ you, Juno. And that scares you, because what you think is the truth of you is your sorrow, your anger, your tendency to just not handle the things that need to be dealt with because it’s all too heavy. But I see the good in you too – the passion that’s within you, and the kindness, even when you don’t think it exists. It’s _real_ , Juno. It’s _you_ .” Distantly, Juno can feel his eyes welling up, too entranced by Nureyev to do anything about it. “And you know me too, Juno. In a way no one else has, that no one else ever can. You’ve seen my past in all its pain the way it was in my mind, understood it only as I could. You don’t have to be afraid of doing anything to hurt me, because you know that I’ll understand you, just as you understand me. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Juno.” His thumb brushes across Juno’s cheekbone, catching a stray tear that’s rolled there, like a tiny diamond on his skin. “ _We_ don’t have to be alone anymore.”

It’s a long time before Juno can talk again, and when he does, it’s soft, but thick with emotion. “I missed you, Peter. I missed you so fucking much.”

Nureyev nods, and Juno swears he can see a glint in his eyes as well, just catching the light as he inclines his head. “I missed you too, Juno. Unspeakably so.”

Juno swipes at his eyes to clear them, contact with his skin a jarring reminder of how incredibly wrinkly his fingers are. “I should probably get out now. My hands are disgusting.” He wobbles as he tries to get up, the pain in his ribs reigniting as he moves, and Nureyev grabs his hand to steady him, wrinkling his nose as their skin touches.

“Oh, they really _are_ , aren’t they?” With Nureyev’s help, Juno manages to get to his feet, even with the weight of his wet clothes pulling back against him, stepping out of the bathtub and back onto the floor.

“It was kind of stupid of me to keep my clothes on,” he says, rubbing his hand that isn’t holding Nureyev’s across the back of his neck, grimacing at the feeling of his shirt’s wet collar.

“I won’t lie, Juno. You’ve done a lot of stupid things tonight, but that one was really something special.” Nureyev laughs quietly, and Juno can’t help but smile back, feeling warm despite the water drenching his clothes.

They’re still holding hands, he realises, and Nureyev seems to catch on shortly afterwards, his eyes widening before he coughs nervously, letting go abruptly.

“Well. We’d better get you dried off.” He flicks a switch on the wall next to him, and a blast of warm air hits Juno square in the back, startling him before vanishing as soon as it came, leaving him dry as if he’d never been in the bath at all other than a few drops of water still clinging to his hair.

“Fancy,” he says, letting Nureyev loop an arm around his waist, leaning against him for support.

“Only the best for Mx Chernoff,” Nureyev replies, opening the door to the bathroom and gently leading Juno through his apartment, a blur through Juno’s rapidly closing eyes as his need for sleep begins to overtake him. He feels the softness of a bed beneath him, blissful after his night of rough edges and hard surfaces, and groans when Nureyev tries to pull away from him, wrapping his arms around him and tugging him closer.

“Juno.” There’s a smile in Nureyev’s voice, even as he tries to extricate himself from his grip. “Let go of me. You can have my bed for tonight. I’m sure my couch will be perfectly comfortable.”

“Your couch _sucks_ ,” Juno replies petulantly, tightening his grip on Nureyev’s waist. “Please?” he says, softer this time, when Nureyev tries to pry him off again with a quiet laugh. “Let me have you. Even if it’s just for now.”

Nureyev hesitates, and then relaxes, his arms coming up to hold Juno close to him, stroking his hair with long, soothing fingers. Juno snakes an arm up between them, his hand gently catching the back of Nureyev’s neck, dragging him closer to kiss him, just once, just gently, like he’s been wanting to ever since he first felt his hands on his skin again.

“Thanks for everything, Nureyev.” This time when Juno tucks his face into the junction of Nureyev’s shoulder and neck he doesn’t pull away, instead resting his chin on the top of his head, the smell of his cologne and the quiet rhythm of his breathing lulling Juno into a well-deserved rest, one that feels warm, feels safe, like he hasn’t felt since a night like nothing else in a hotel room he can barely remember.

He’s not sure, but he swears that as he falls asleep he hears Nureyev say, “It doesn’t have to be just for now.”

 

He’s not in Nureyev’s bed when he wakes up.

He knows where he is, though – he’s slept in his office enough times to recognise the crappy, falling-apart suede of his couch under his ass anywhere, and the blanket that he keeps in the third drawer of his desk draped over his body. He recognises the sound of Rita making coffee, too, and braces himself just in time for the inevitable small explosion and accompanying yelp. He groans, stretching out his back, the dull throb in his ribs the only evidence that he didn’t dream the previous night, managing to peel his eyes open just as Rita hurries into his office, wiping coffee off her face with the edge of his blanket and shooting him a lopsided grin when she catches sight of his unimpressed expression.

“Morning, Mistah Steel!” she chirps, and Juno groans again, rubbing a hand over his face.

“How did I get here?” he asks, foregoing a greeting, and Rita huffs, shoving him down the couch with her hip as she takes a seat next to him, straightening her skirt and picking a piece of the coffee maker out of her hair before tossing it haphazardly across the room.

“Mistah _Steel!_ Don’t tell me you don’t remember? After all the trouble that nice Chernoff person with the thing in their eyebrow went to with dropping you off here! They told me you’d had too much to drink and had to stay at their place last night, but I didn’t know it was so bad you couldn’t remember any of it!”

“Chernoff?” Juno asks, lost for a second before his eyes widen, his moment of realisation coming a second too late for him to stop Rita from babbling again.

“Come _on_ , Mistah Steel!” she cries, rapidly pinwheeling arms only just avoiding taking out his good eye. “They seem like a real classy gentleman, and it ain’t right for you to forget about them and break their heart! They left you a business card and everything, a fancy one, too!”

“They left me a _what?_ ” he asks, and Rita sighs, pulling a small slip of _something_ from her pocket and passing it to him, still grumbling quietly.

“Besides, I wanted to know all the details. C’mon, Mistah Steel, you gotta have _something_ juicy to tell me!”

“Sorry, Rita. You know a lady never kisses and tells,” he replies smoothly, hoping it’s enough to distract her from the way he grips the card as if it’s trying to escape from him. “How about you tell me how your date with Frannie went instead. How was she? She treat you right?”

At that, Rita positively _swoons_ . “Oh, Mistah Steel, she was _wonderful_.”

Juno tunes out from Rita’s ramble, only half-listening as he flips the card over in his hands, running his fingers anxiously over its smooth surface.

 _Scarlett Chernoff_ , it reads in studded rhinestones.

Below that, there’s a number, and in long, spidery scrawl, an address.

Juno can’t help but grin, can’t help but think of a sharp-toothed smile and gentle words, of not having to be alone, even if it’s just for now.

There’s still a month until that jewellery store in Polaris Park has its stock go missing.

Just something to consider.

**Author's Note:**

> rita's a lesbian debate ya mom  
> this fic's title comes from poison oak by bright eyes because it makes me think of juno and get really sad when i listen to it so now everyone else has to suffer with me  
> shoutouts to [marty](http://tallykale.tumblr.com) for his good grammar saving me from myself  
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/lesbianiruma) and [tunglr](http://deerlimbs.tumblr.com) please for the love of GOD i need to ape out about penumbra more  
> thank you for reading my content! leave me a comment i'm extremely lonely and crave validation from YOU specifically


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